Haudh en Arwen
by Unsung Heroine
Summary: “… and her people raised a green mound over her in the heights of the forest… ” It is the First Age of the Sun, year 505, in the midst of winter, and Caranthir rides to say his final farewell to a certain woman.


**Summary: **"… and her people raised a green mound over her in the heights of the forest ..." It is the First Age of the Sun, year 505, in the midst of winter, and Caranthir rides to say his final farewell to a certain woman.

**Disclaimer: **Not mine, like you should know by now.

**Note: **This little story developed while I was working on "What Remains Untold", though I guess it can be understood without reading that one. It is written from Caranthir's POV and a one-shot. Feedback is greatly appreciated.

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**Haudh-en-Arwen**

I left our camp in the dark of the night and I am pretty confident that no one there recognized my departure back then. I have ridden for hours and it has already become morning. It is a grey, cloudy day and neither my thick cloak nor the dense growing trees provide much help in warding off the fierce winter winds and the occasional drifts of snowflakes whipping into my already half-frozen face. The Forest of Brethil becomes but a disturbing blur of white snow-covered ground and dead black branches. My fingers feel uncomfortably numb and in my overtired mind the urge to simply lay down and sleep begins to reign.

"Haudh-en-Arwen?" I have asked the few people that passed me by on my way and most strangely everyone knew exactly where I could find what I was looking for, while I – the one who probably should have known it most of all – did not have a clue. Have I, after all, been at last deemed unworthy of her esteemed acquaintance? I am not quite sure.

The paths of Brethil are not easy to travel, winding their way in serpentines up and down steep hills and passing by the forlorn ruins of forsaken villages until at last I find what I have been searching: A low mound raised in a small glade on a hill-top, sheltered by a copse of silver birches.

Haudh-en-Arwen.

I dismount, realizing with dismay how stiff my legs have become after hours of riding in the cold and make my way rather awkwardly to the hillock, crouching down next to it and slowly reaching out a hand to touch the virgin snow covering the dead grass underneath.

It is just a plain mound with no further adornments, no epitaph speaking of great deeds long gone and forgotten, no slowly withering, moss-covered splendour of something only remembered by few, and I can imagine what it must look like in spring with colourful wildflowers growing all over it and butterflies fluttering all about. I can see it in late summer covered in dappled shade with spots of light playing upon sun-bleached grass. And I can hear the light rustle of leaves that the wind carries away from here in early fall. A sound like her laughter.

She would have approved of its lovely simplicity. Indeed I guess she would have gone mad if they had raised a statue of her upon a marble pedestal with her name carved into. I sigh lowly. Of course she would not, for she would not have lived to see it. Perhaps her spirit would have done so, her beautiful spirit that has now fled to a place I do not know of and that I will most likely never meet again. And suddenly I realize how much I actually miss the woman that was so strong, so light-hearted, so fierce and carefree and strange enough all of it at the same time as it seems to be the way of the Edain. Never again did I ever know someone who lived as intensely as she did, never again someone embracing the time granted to them more gratefully, and only now do I comprehend that she ran away unashamedly with a none too small piece of my heart. And I miss her, yes. But I am not Luthien, the Fair, and my voice is by far not as beautiful as that it might touch Mandos himself to bring her back.

Perhaps I should send my brother.

Ah well, I guess I am being rather sarcastic now. I see.

Should I cry for her? I have been asking myself this question for at least a thousand times or more and still I do not know the answer. It is like it does not feel… _appropriate_ to do so after all these years. Perhaps it is because I am feeling so strangely detached from my past. I suppose my mind fails to perceive that she is really gone for good.

I still remember the day I first met her, a proud young woman who had just lost about everything and still stood straight, unyielding, holding her ground. Back then I could not help myself but wonder about her incredibly strong spirit, remembering all to well how I had felt like going mad for days after my own father's death.

But then, Haldad did not burst into flames after his spirit had left his broken body.

Valar, when I think about it, she would have most probably slapped me right into my face for the latter statement. And though I hate to admit, she would have been right in doing so. I have never been on the sensitive side. You may either accept that or leave it. Indeed I sometimes felt as if she had already acquired more wisdom at her young age than I had been able to in a lifetime of centuries.

When I think back I can still see her standing before me in that unique way in which she was beautiful. Not that annoyingly perfect, flawless kind of beauty of the Elf-maidens I had known back in Aman, that kind of beauty that had always sort of bored me. Haleth was so very different from that. Rather small in height, her hair coarse and windblown, her nose just a bit too broad, her arms unusually muscular for a woman and there seemed to be nothing that might daunt her, nothing she would not face with a smile.

When I am honest ít would have embarassed me utterly to have fallen so for a woman if it had not been for her. I could not help it. She was enchanting.

Though she probably never really believed me when I told her so.

She was indeed a stubborn one, that small Atani-woman, and that was probably the one trait that prevented her from ever even thinking of giving up. The one that made her carry on after the disastrous journey through Nan Dungortheb; so many of her people lost along the way. I guess I know how she made it through this; most probably biting down on her lip until it nearly bled, choking the tears threatening to fall, moving on as if nothing had happened.

Just as it had been then, between the rivers.

And I know if I had ever seen her again, if I had ever made the journey to Brethil in a time when she still was alive, if I had ever met her here in the heights of the forest, then she would have never even done so much as admitted that just possibly she had done the wrong thing.

Oh yes, I remember her stubbornness. I remember her chin, raised in defiance. But I also remember her strength and I remember her sheer willpower. I remember her as special in everything she did, everything she said, as incredibly passionate and endlessly dedicated when it came to the things she believed in.

I remember her as being perfect in her very own imperfect way.

And as someone who would have laughed hysterically about the description I have just have given of her.

"She was of great renown, the Lady Haleth."

I turn my head to the source of the unexpected sound behind me and for a moment, only a moment, I could have believed it was her. But the girl standing with cat-like grace atop a rock near the mound is taller and her dark hair, reaching down to her hips and bound back loosely from her pale face with the high cheekbones, is smoother and shinier than Haleth's ever was. And while Haleth was always on the slender side, this girl could nearly be called skinny, though not to the point of being unattractive, and I cannot help but wonder how these thin arms do manage to lift up the large hunting bow made of dark wood that she holds to her side. But after all, these mortal women have always had certain skills in surprising me.

So no, it is not her and how could it be possible? But sometimes the heart likes to play its games with the mind and this girl's eyes look just the same as hers, the colour of gathering storm clouds. Haleth's eyes.

"I thought so." I smile wanly at the girl while the wind blows strands of hair across my face. "She was a most recognizable woman."

The girl's brow furrows in confusion.

"You talk as if you knew her, sir." She pauses and thoughtfully cocks her head to the side, a motion that makes her look even younger than she already does.

"But that was…" Looking at me her eyes light up as if in sudden understanding, filled with barely hidden wonder. "You…" and saying that she eyes me like some wild and dangerous animal, "… you are of the Eldar."

I nod to her and find myself wondering if there ever has been an offspring of Haleth and me, one I never knew of. Some beautiful half-elven girl with dark hair and storm-cloud eyes. But then I realize I am being ridiculous. I would have known.

"And you… you knew _her_?" She squints her eyes in question, pronouncing _her _as if talking about some kind of deity, as if about Varda Elentarí herself and in person.

I nod again. "I did."

My smile grows just the tiniest bit wider, just the tiniest bit more genuine, as I stand up and turn towards her, my thoughts drifting back in time and space. To a scenery of lush green hills beneath dark grey peaks tipped with white like shards of jewels. To the dark surface of a mountain lake and the picture of a mighty fortress perched upon a steep South-Western slope. To paths yet untrodden and sights yet unseen and to riches unheard of. To an angle between two rivers, the one broad, the other smaller and a figure with dark-blonde hair standing among the remnants of her former life like a rock in the breakers.

It may sound strange, but suddenly I find it almost possible to ignore the nagging voice inside, that is constantly trying to remind me of the very fact that all of this is no more.

"What was she like?"

The girl's voice calls me back from my recollections and leaves me once more in the bleak present of this bitterly cold winter-day among the dead black branches of an eeriely quiet forest.

Well, what has she been like, Haleth, daughter of Haldad, Lady of the Haladin? Does this girl know I could spend nights over nights by the campfire talking about nothing but this, while in fact I never even told anyone? So as always, I decide to stay with the facts.

"The last time I saw her was in Estolad", I say. "She was still young back then, but already a noble woman of her people, one others looked upon to lead them, training a guard of female warriors." I pause. "But the first time I met her was far to the East; in Thargelion. She must have been about your age back then, or even younger."

With some amusement I watch the girl's eyes grow wide in sudden realization. Poor thing, it is only now she recognizes who I actually am.

"You… you are Caranthir" she stutters, looking every inch as if she was about to pass out in awe the next moment. "Feanor's son. Lord of Thargelion."

_Was _I think bitterly, for this is how things are now. I _was _Lord of Thargelion. The land beyond the rivers is no more. But it would be unfair to bother this mortal girl with one of my darker moods and so I do my best to keep my composure, smiling vaguely and nodding at her.

She lets out a breath. "This… this is incredible."

"But true nonetheless."

I grin a little and suddenly feel like calling out loud. _Look, Haleth, look how we have become heroes among your people! _But I remain silent as I realize the girl has jumped down from her rock and now looks as if she was going to do something as ridiculous as inclining her head in front of me, which I do not exactly feel like right now, especially considering the quite ungraceful, snow-covered and ice-caked state I am in.

"My Lord." It is quite charming, I have to confess. She obviously has no idea how to act properly in situations as such, but nonetheless does her best to be polite. No, I really do not feel like it right now. In fact I have not felt like it since the Nirnaeth.

"No. No." I am waving my hands in a vague gesture. Truly odd how things change. Back in Thargelion I would not have even guessed something might rob me off my pride one day. "Do not do that. There is no need to."

She looks up, slightly startled, raising her admittedly quite elegant eyebrows. "Sure?"

"Absolutely. She never did that."

"Never?"

"Never. Not even once."

I am shaking my head vehemently, remembering all too well how Haleth always used to act a good deal less respectful than befitting a son of Feanor, a behaviour I would have never even allowed concerning anyone else.

A smile crosses the girl's fair features. "She was extraordinary."

Yes, that she was indeed. Extraordinary in every way.

We stand there for a while, silently looking at each other, two lone figures in a black and white nothingness.

Suddenly she smiles slightly, almost apologetically. "If you excuse me, my Lord. I really must leave now. I have to take care of my business." She points to the bow at her side.

"Yes… yes, of course", I say. "I forgot." I gesture at the weapon she holds and then smile at her, too. "It was a most pleasant encounter."

"Oh, spare your pleasantries. Let us be honest: I've been annoying you." She smirks. Haleth's unique beautiful smirk. "Farewell, my Lord."

"Farewell, my Lady. Take good care of you."

Then she turns and leaves. I want to call after her. "No", I want to say, "No, you have not", but the words will not come out as I stand here, staring after her; feeling faintly ridiculous if I am honest with myself, as if not capable of leading proper conversations. Before I move again she has disappeared from my sight without me even knowing her name. I am once more alone in the silence of the Woods of Brethil.

The cold wind rustles lightly in the dead leaves still clinging to the trees, sounding like Haleth's laughter.

Did I not tell you, Adanwen? Did I not tell you that we could not be parted? For I still can hear the tune of your very own within the Great Music, clearly discernable and like this we will always be together.

I do not know how long I have been standing by the barrow – her barrow – when I finally walk back to my horse. Pictures start appearing in my mind. Of a small Atani-woman on a chestnut-coloured Valinorean stallion, raising her hand in farewell. Of coarse coppery blonde hair running through my hands and of laughter like the light rustling of leaves in early fall and I know that I will never forget her.

I mount my horse and leave without looking back again, heading back to our camp, a warm roaring fire and the task we have yet to fulfil.

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_Caranthir, Feanor's fourth son, is slain few days later in the Ruin of Doriath,  
Year 505, First Age of the Sun_

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**Author's Note: **

I have honestly no idea where that girl came from. She just… appeared. I somehow tend to like women with weapons (Go, Uma!).

It is nowhere said that Caranthir ever visited Haudh-en-Arwen but neither is it said that he didn't. I put the visit shortly before the assault of the sons of Feanor on Doriath and as far as I know it does not contradict anything said in the Silmarillion. If it does, than this right here is an AU. So what?

Encyclopedia of Arda tells me the Ruin of Doriath was in the year 505 of the First Age. I have no idea if this is in fact the exact date but decided to simply trust my esteemed source of information.

Many thanks again to all of you who took the time to read my work.


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